Grief and the Healing Power of Photography

I was in the middle of setting up my portable studio to do some head shots this Monday afternoon when I got the text from my uncle informing me that my grand father Ralph had passed away. For a few moments I just stared at the screen of my phone. My brilliant, funny, wonderful grandpa was gone. Mind sharp as a tack until a stroke hit him a week prior, we used to converse via email and he would give me critiques on my photography. An avid lover of photography, he is the biggest influence as to why I pursued the art in the first place. Last month he told me he was proud of me. No giver of frivolous compliments, coming from him this was a huge deal to me. The rest of the headshot session was a blur, with shaky hands I disassembled my equipment and packed up for home, spilling half a thermos full of tea on my absentminded self in the process. 

I was also thinking about the funeral we just had that weekend for my husband's grandma Lucy. Spunky and vivacious, this woman exuded a joyful spirit from every pore of her body. Even in her final days which she spent in and out of consciousness, the words she spoke were all delightful and filled with love. She would call the caretakers angels and murmur happy loving words. Lucy wore happiness not as a mask in her life - she embodied it. An example for all of us on how to view life positively and as one grand adventure. While grateful for the long lives both Ralph and Lucy enjoyed, their loss weighs heavily on me. Just last Christmas we spent our final moments with my Grandma Louise as she succumbed to pneumonia in the hospital. And this spring, my furry canine best friend Buddy died. 2012 has been a rough one.

Grandma Lucy and Grandpa Ralph

Having to deal with death is a relatively new experience for me. The first time I had to face it head on was when I was 31 with the death of my Grandpa Henry. Our culture tends to avoid realistic discussions of death and many of us are ill equipped when we inevitably encounter this reality of life.

Groping in the dark as to how to wrestle with this new kind of pain I did find a wonderful book called "Talking about Death Won't Kill You" by Virginia Morris.  I recommend this to anyone else feeling the need for such encouragement.   

Grandma Louise and Grandpa Henry

The Buddy

It is necessary to not shy away from the pain of grief, but enter if fully and allow it expression. Don't be afraid to be low, and face ugly questions that may come up such as "did I tell them I loved them often enough?", why didn't I ask them ____?", "was I too absorbed in myself to appreciate them fully?". Eventually by free falling into the pain and yielding to it, the grief will finally exhaust itself and a new state of living with the loved one's memory will enter your soul.  

I have found that consistent through all of the losses this year, the most healing activity I engaged in was pouring over pictures of my loved ones. Contemplating the pictures, lovingly creating galleries, picking my favorites and listening to sweet music in the background facilitated my going deeper, feeling the pain and allowing it expression. It is a great ritual to help one muster the courage to face the hurt and walk on the road to healing.  

Just last week while searching for the perfect image of grandma Lucy, my husband commented how grateful he is for photography. His grandma's joy was captured in so many ways that he can look back on and remember the incredible person she was. What a gift we modern humans have with this technology! In a time like this, it doesn't matter if the photo is professionally done and tack sharp or blurry and technically rubbish, when a person is gone any image of them becomes precious. There has been more than one wedding I have photographed where someone passed soon after the event. My images became the last ever taken of them. This seared into my soul the great significance of what I do for people.  

All of this also got me thinking back to a story I recently saw on the news about a mom, Allison Tate, who consistently avoided getting in front of the camera, and one day realized her children were not going to have a visual record of her. She realized the silliness of this avoidence, blogged about it and has challenged mom's everywhere to get in the picture. Read her article here.  I have notice some friends on Facebook who rarely post pictures of themselves on their page. I only see images of their kids, or what they ate for dinner last night. While it is great to see the sweet faces of the kiddos, I wonder where are YOU my friend? I challenge parents to "get in the picture" as well. While I am sure your kids will be grateful for the billions of images you have of them growing up, don't forget to include yourself in those images. As those little ones grow up, those images of you, especially the ones of you WITH them, will become more precious to them than ALL the images of themselves. 

Pictures are the modern mural of our lives. They record moments that can never be created again. They are our most precious belongings, worth more than everything else we own. We can always buy another diamond, but we cannot take another picture with those loved ones we've lost. Take the time this Christmas season to record everybody in the family in the most memorable way possible.

With pictures.